i was sitting with my family at a mexican restaurant in ocala, florida when the idea of death was brought up. my great uncle cecil had recently died and i would be playing violin at his funeral in a few days.

he was cremated. and i knew that.

“i don’t like the idea of cremation,” i shared with the table. my dad responded with empathy but reminded me that he himself wanted to be cremated. of course i had heard this before. but this time was different.

ashes.

something deep welled up inside me and i began to feel a weight hanging from my eyes as if someone was pulling every single tear from my ducts.

i quickly removed myself from the table so that my family wouldn’t recognize the pain stirring inside my bones. anxiety. ashes.

as i stood in the bathroom, i began to wipe away the not-yet-healed wounds of being told my body would be burned in hell. in fact, i remember every time a preacher would in their own way tell me my body would be subjected to billions of years of excruciating torture because I was gay.

sinners in the hands of an angry god.

mixed messages of god loves everyone and god burns **** and sinners have torn apart my once held view of a gracious deity.

ashes.

words of scripture I once revered now tell me i’m no longer welcomed.

ashes.

faithful christians whom I once knew now tell me that satan has a grip on my soul...

i still love jesus. and I know that love is reciprocated.
and that is why my very core breaks into a thousand different pieces when I hear about a loved one that has chosen to be cremated. how could I ever choose cremation... for it has already been chosen for me.

glitter.